


The Night Before The Break Of Dawn

by TT_Angst_Queen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Blood and Gore, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Domestic Avengers, Gen, HYDRA did not kill the Starks, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Memory Loss, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Avengers, Protective Steve Rogers, Seizures, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TT_Angst_Queen/pseuds/TT_Angst_Queen
Summary: The Asset was the gun, and his masters were the finger, hand, and demonic bodies that pulled the trigger and smirked at the destruction the bullet had created.His master's used their gun- their weapon- over and over and stored it away after each use in its cold and empty case, with no care or love or thought to it.But the thing with weapons-with guns- is that without proper care-They rust.They malfunction.And they backfire on the wielder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Are you 18+ and Want to join in a group dedicated to Bucky Appreciation? Join my Server on Discord, here: 
> 
> https://discord.gg/h2zTtzT
> 
> Hope to see you soon!

 

* * *

 

 

It was uncomfortable, the Asset remembered, to be put in cryo. He would be awake throughout the entire process, as every bit of his body froze, piece-by-piece, cell-by-cell, until his brain would freeze, and blessed unconsciousness would take him away from the horror and agony that was being frozen alive, over and over and over again. The ice never truly left him, leaving him cold long after he had been thawed.

 

His name was no mistake, and the Winter Soldier was never warm, never kind, never merciful. He would leave death and destruction in his wake and do it with grace and beauty, preciseness that was cold and unforgiving and left grieving people and damaged lives.

He was as frozen as the Arctic and just as deadly, and once he came, he could not be stopped. He was death, and he was strife, he embodied fear, and he tore apart lives and hopes and dreams. He was unmovable, and he was unstoppable.

 

He was a puppet, and he wanted it to end.

 

But the Asset was a puppet, and as such was not supposed to _want_ , to _covet_ , to _dream_ , to _hope_.

 

So, the Asset sank into the Chair with each wipe, and he didn’t struggle. The Asset was not allowed to be human, he _was not_ human, and as such did not have human wants, needs, or desires. He could not fear because only a human would fear. He could not hate because that was a human emotion that was burned out of him with painful conditioning long ago. The Asset could not _like_ because he did not know what that _was_.

 

He was a machine, and machines were made to do a task, not to question or analyze or think. He was the gun and was fired with cold and calculating precision on the will of his handlers and was not able or allowed to question _why_.

 

The Asset was the gun, and his masters were the finger, hand, and demonic bodies that pulled the trigger and smirked at the destruction the bullet had created.

His master's used their gun- their weapon- over and over and stored it away after each use in its cold and empty case, with no care or love or thought to it.

 

But the thing with weapons-with guns- is that without proper care-

 

They rust.

 

They malfunction.

 

And they backfire on the wielder.

 

* * *

 

 

The Asset knew nothing. Nothing other than the skills he had and the missions he was given, and the consequences that would be doled out if he dared to fail to complete them. The Asset was not capable of failure, and HYDRA was aware of this.

 

The Asset did not know much more than Hydra and didn’t struggle when they took him from outside the Smithsonian.

 

The Asset grunted as another cutting lash hit the bare flesh of his back, but he didn’t flinch; far-too used to the pain that he was given.

 

The sound of the whip whistling through the air cut through the layered tension like a knife, and The Asset was aware that several HYDRA Agents were watching his punishment, and despite the fact that the Asset was chained down to the open-backed electric Chair and docile, it did not hide the fact that The Asset was still beyond dangerous. The Asset could escape at any time, and they knew that; it was only the fact that the Asset had any fight against his masters beaten and wiped out of him long ago that kept him from lashing out.

 

Crack.

 

_Blond_ _hair, a flash of blue, blue eyes looking up at him with amusement, a woman's laugh “c’mon Bucky, we’re gonna be late-”_

 

Crack.

 

_“Bucky, there are men laying down their lives-” a flash of brown curls, a hug from a woman that felt comforting and loving- “You come back you me, Bucky, you hear? I need my son-” a flash of blond hair and blue, blue eyes-_

 

Crack.

 

_“-I’ve got no right to do any less then them-” light brown wispy curls and blue eyes identical to his, a tinkling laughter- “C’mon Bucky, you promised me a penny candy, what kinda brother are ya-” a flash of blond hair and blue, blue eyes-_

 

Crack.

 

_“-taking all the stupid with you-” a dark-eyed woman with blood red lipstick and a stern voice, drinks in bars with a group of mismatched rowdy soldiers- “Another round on Barnes, eh, Morita? He owes us after the prank in France-” a flash of blond hair and blue, blue eyes-_

 

Crack.

 

_“Don’t win the war till’ I get there-”_

 

_a flash-_

 

_“I thought you were dead-”_

 

_of blond-_

 

_“-ready to follow Captain America into the Jaws of death?”_

 

_hair-_

 

_“now why would I do that?”_

 

_And- “Bucky no!”_

 

_blue-_

_“Jerk-”_

 

_Blue-_

 

_“my names Steve Rogers, what yours’?”_

 

_Eyes-_

 

_“Heya, Stevie, I’m Bucky, Bucky Barnes!”_

 

Cra-

 

Bucky Barnes opened his eyes.

 

All hell broke loose.

 

Later, much, much later, Bucky would regret that he didn’t destroy the chair first, that damned chair that had caused him decades of agony, decades of not knowing why his chest felt empty, a gaping maw of raw wounds where his memories were supposed to be; every prod at that empty space where his past was missing causing him unending pain and unfettered torment.

 

Bucky wondered if maybe things would have been different if he had torn that chair from its position nailed to the floor of the only room that was heavy with the feeling of rage, pain, and fear. He wondered if he would have kept his memories, or if the inevitable would have happened anyways with the slightest blow to his abused skull and brain.

 

Bucky, at that moment though, was only thinking of rending everyone in that room limb-from-limb, his returned, but fuzzy memories racing through his head and one thought screaming at him from the depths of his rage-filled consciousness;

 

_They took everything from me._

 

The gaping cavity in his chest was teased with the edges of fuzzy memories as he tore through the people in the room, his only goal to kill everyone in the HYDRA base and then get to Steve, where he knew he would be safe and protected. Where he knew he would be cared for and _loved_.

 

Bucky tore his way through the facility with no care to any of his captors and tormentors; no-one in this base was innocent, nobody in HYDRA was innocent- they all played a part, and they all were the same. They didn’t care who they hurt to get to their goals, and Bucky would treat them with the same care they would give to anyone else.

 

Bucky was dripping in blood, soaked to the skin and his hair matted with gore and clumps of blood, his face streaked and spattered with the ruby liquid, and Bucky didn’t flinch as he tore into the last chest and ripped his hand back out.

 

The corpse of his last tormentor dropped lifelessly to the cold floor, the brunette assassin dropping the no longer beating heart with a wet ‘splat’ on the concrete, thick, ruby liquid dripping from his right arm from the elbow down.

 

Bucky didn’t flinch.

 

Turning away from the empty corpse, he stalked toward his last destination before he left his own personal Hell; The Chair room.

 

Standing in front of The Chair, Bucky took a moment to look at the construct of black metal and electric headgear. He took a moment to remember the agony of every wipe; the way he would writhe in agony as wave after wave of electricity was fired straight into his brain, and his mind was ripped to shreds, his teeth grinding against the rubber mouth-guard that always felt more like a gag. He remembered how when the Chair would turn off, and the electricity would stop shooting through his brain, his body would slacken, his mind empty, his muscles lax and his bowels and bladder voided. How the gag would be taken from his slack mouth, and he would be taken immediately to another room to be hosed down with a blast of frigid water from a fire hose and then roughly dressed. He would be taken to whoever was his current handler and given a mission and be expected to comply.

 

_“Ready to comply.”_

 

He looked at The Chair and felt loathing and suffrage as he remembered how the thing and its technicians had taken his mind and shredded it in the most effective and painful way possible; how they would stand around and not even flinch at his tortured screams while they sat there and _watched_.

 

Bucky grabbed the black metal Chair by its armrest and went to rip it apart, but a sudden blow to his head made his vision blurry, and he had just enough time to lash out before his vision blacked out.

 

* * *

 

Waking up with a pounding headache was nothing new but waking up to a pounding headache while a grinning, pale-faced, and clearly dying Brock Rumlow had his hand on the controls of The Chair he was now strapped down to, was.

 

“You son of a bitch-” Bucky snarled, his teeth bared as he struggled in the restraints- it was no use; he was weak from both his whipping and from his attack on HYDRA.

 

“Never used this thing before,” Rumlow grinned through bloody teeth, his left arm ripped from his body and his chest bleeding profusely, “But if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me, Soldier,”

 

“My name,” Bucky snarled in one last show of defiance, “Is James, Buchanan Barnes, asswipe.”

 

Brock just smirked and flipped the switch.

 

“Hail HYDRA.”

 

Bucky was lost in a wave of agony as the familiar electricity ripped his mind to shreds, and as his world went black and his memories were stripped from him, his last thought he hung onto with an iron grip raced through his head;

 

 _My name is Bucky._  

 

* * *

 

“Steve, stop,” Natasha snapped as the blond began marching towards the gear room.

 

Ignoring her, Steve grabbed the biggest duffle and began throwing weapons and gear in the bag, making sure to add three of their biggest and most well-stocked first-aid kits and throw them in.

 

“Steve, you can’t just follow this lead without a plan,” the redhead hissed, her eyes glinting with worry and frustration.

 

“Watch me,” Steve hissed, shooting her a glare out of the corner of his eyes as he shoved another knife into the rapidly-filling bag.

 

“You need a plan, Steve, you can’t just walk into a Hydra base half-cocked on intel from an unreliable source-”

 

“I have a plan,” Steve snapped, “Attack.”

 

“Now you just sound like me, Cap.”

 

Steve whipped his head around and turned his glare at Tony as he leaned in the doorway and looked at Steve with a smirk.

 

“I might have to sue,” the genius mused, and Steve gritted his teeth.

 

“Tony, I don’t have time-” the blond started, but Tony cut him off, his eyes suddenly hard and his smirk gone.

 

“You have enough time to make a goddamn plan, so you don’t get your reckless ass killed, got it?” Tony’s usual joking and light demeanour were gone, in its place was a no-nonsense, serious glare and a look that said if Steve dared to run into battle without backup or a plan, Tony would kill Steve himself.

 

Steve snapped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth as he felt a pain shoot through his chest as Tony’s words reminded him of another snarky brunette who would call him reckless and remind him, he wasn’t, in fact, invincible.

 

Steve deflated, the realization that the man he was so hell-bent on rescuing without any thought to his safety making him realize just how idiotic he was being. He couldn’t help Bucky if he was dead from stupidity and stubbornness.

 

“Then what do you suggest?”

 

Rolling his shoulders, the usual confident smirk returning to his lips, Tony brought out his phone, tapping the screen.

 

“We assemble.”

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

Those of the Team that were currently available arrived swiftly, and they didn’t even bother to go into the conference room; They stocked up on gear and put on their uniforms and got on the Quinjet. Thor was off-world, something to do with Loki again, but the rest of the Team had jumped when they found out their leader, and close friend needed help.

 

Steve had honestly expected some reluctance from most of them. While Steve may look at Bucky and know that he would help and could help him, -would do it even when Bucky all but killed him- Steve was not unaware that not everyone would share his desire to protect his oldest and closest friend, his brother.

 

Steve was more than aware that most of his Team had backgrounds where mistrust was what saved their lives and got them where they were and trusting often got them burned. Steve knew that his own feelings of betrayal that SHIELD had turned out to be HYDRA had been, while not less significant, as he had been told more than once, but...less jarring, less of an impact.

 

Yes, Steve had died to stop the very organization that had been hiding in the place that had revived him and worked for. Yes, they had taken his friend and had ripped the once charming and proud man’s mind to ribbons and flaunted the fact the minute they thought they won. Yes, Steve had been affected, probably needed therapy, and would heavily distrust any government persons in the near future.

 

But Clint had been practically raised by SHIELD since he was a teenager. They had taken him in from a life of abuse and crime and had given him a home and a job and told him he was saving the world, one arrow, one death, one stolen piece of Intel at a time.

 

Natasha had been saved by SHIELD, and Clint, when she had been cornered and brought in. She had been saved, seemingly, by the Americans she had been raised her whole young life to hate. Natasha had been given a chance and a way to rid the dripping red from her ruby-soaked ledger and had thought she had been doing _good_.

 

Tony, who had worked as a consultant and given SHIELD designs, even helped with project insight, had trusted that his work had have been used for good. Instead, it had been used for the exact thing he had become Iron Man to stop.

 

Sam, well he was kicked off the helicarrier by the very man Steve was trying to save, his wings ripped off and pushed into the open air, probably flashing back to his own service days and Riley's death.

 

So yes, Steve was aware that the others had more than enough reasons to not want anything to do with Bucky, a former HYDRA assassin, brainwashed or no.

 

So, the fact that they had dropped everything and came to his aid to help him recover the last piece of _Steve Rogers_ that was left in the world?

 

It meant _everything._  

 

* * *

 

 

“Going by the intel we were given, the base they have Bucky in is pretty small, maybe 20-30 agents and 5-10 techs and scientists-”

 

Natasha cut Steve off with a roll of her green eyes and a frustrated sigh.

 

“Steve, I told you, the source was unreliable, he was high off his ass, and could barely tell the difference between my knife and his cigarettes, considering he tried to stick it in his mouth,” the Widow’s voice was clipped and her eyes tight, the worry she tried to hide was set in her shoulders but empty from her eyes, which were a green swirl of carefully concealed thoughts.

 

Gritting his teeth, Steve went to snap back a reply, but Tony once again stopped him, for the second time today.

 

“Historically, people are more truthful when they're high,” the older man smirked, “talking from long past personal experience, of course.”

 

Natasha shot him a glare, eyes flashing with a sudden burst of irritation.

 

“Not everyone is honest while high, _Stark_ ,” she snapped, and Tony just shrugged.

 

“We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe him enough to follow his intel, _Rushmen_ -”

 

“Can we- can we not, please?” a nervous Bruce cut in, making the bickering pair snap their mouths shut.

 

“Just-” The curly-haired scientist grimace slightly, “The other guy doesn't like it when, uh, his ‘tiny family fights.’ So, yeah, um, can we just-”

 

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Natasha said quietly, genuinely, then turned to Tony, “-and I’m sorry for snapping at you Tony, you were trying to help, and I-” She clenched her teeth, walls threatening to fly up and block the emotion she was currently showing. “I am worried that something will go wrong.”

Sam, who had been quiet the whole time, observing his new Team members while they interacted, spoke up;

 

“You know something we don’t?” he asked her, not unkindly.

 

Natasha shook her head, her mouth a thin line and her shoulders like steel.

 

“Just a feeling,” the redhead uttered, and everyone stiffened; whether it was from years of instincts sharpened to a razor's edge, or some inherited skill, Natasha’s ‘feelings’ tended to be right.

 

And they rarely boded well.

 

“What kind of feeling?” Steve dared to ask, swallowing through a through that felt like acid had ravaged the delicate flesh.

 

“Nothing good.”

 

They took a moment to digest that, the uneasy tension in the air thick and cloying. Steve didn’t want to back out of this; he was so close to finding Bucky, so close to getting his best friend, his brother back; He didn’t want to abandon this mission, not on a feeling, regardless of how often they came true.

 

But…

 

“Then we will proceed with caution,” Steve told them, making sure they understood the seriousness of his words.

 

“That means no side missions, no going off script, no reckless maneuvers, got it?” he gave Natasha and Tony a look that told them he was not only talking about himself, but also them.

 

 Tony looked like he wanted to say something, but Natasha elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a Look, and he swallowed whatever he was going to say.

 

“Ok,” Steve nodded, “Then here’s the plan, Bruce, you’re gonna be waiting for our signal and man the jet, we don’t know for sure if we’re walking into an ambush or not, and having the Hulk as a back-up is something that will come in handy,”

 

Bruce nodded, “And it helps that I can fly the jet in case of emergency, for a quick getaway,” the man grimaced, “unless the Other Guy is in control, then-”

 

“Then me, Tony, or Natasha will do a lullaby,” Steve assured him, and Bruce relaxed.

 

“Natasha,” Steve looked at her, and she nodded sharply, “I want you on my six, and Clint, I want you outside on watch; any stragglers, I want you to take them out, but I want at least one alive, for interrogation,” Clint nodded, and Steve turned to Tony.

 

“I want Iron Man on my twelve, taking down any security we find, and maybe recover some files, see if we can find other bases, maybe other members.”

 

“Got it, Capsicle,” Tony saluted sarcastically, and Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

 

The rest of them nodded, and other then the occasional shuffling sound or a cough, the rest of the flight was silent.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

 

The minute they got to the entrance they were on their guard. The multiple bodies on what was basically the front door of the base was a clear indication that something had happened.

 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Tony gagged, his faceplate flipping up; he indeed did look a little green, and the rest of the Team looked similar, even Natasha had a small grimace on her face looking at the small massacre.

Steve couldn’t blame them; even he, who had seen some of the worst WW2 had to offer, this was gory; a clear expression of rage from whomever the perpetrator was.

The corpses were bloody and torn apart, some of them even had gaping holes in their chests and their hearts were discarded beside them.

 

“I think this was Bucky…” Steve murmured, the words he was thinking in his head slipping out. Steve looked up to see his Team looking at him, and he explained.

 

“Who else has the reason, rage, and strength to do this?” Steve pointed out, then added a bit sarcastically, “Other than me.”

 

The joke fell flat, of course.

 

“Remind me not to piss off Red October, would you?” Tony grimaced, swallowing nervously.

 

“I’ll remind you if you remind me,” Clint agreed, and Sam nodded along, looking more then pale.

 

“Even the soldier wasn’t this violent,” Natasha observed, looking at the scene with a critical eye, “His kills were always clean, swift, merciful. This is…”

 

“Revenge,” Steve finished, Natasha nodding in reply.

 

“Yes, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we find a trail of bodies that lead us straight to him.”

 

“You don’t think he left?” Steve asked, surprised, and the redhead shook her head, raising an eyebrow.

 

“If he had left, he would have blown this place sky-high.”

 

Steve realized that she was right and hissed a breath through his teeth.

 

“These Bodies are hours old,” Tony pointed out, and Steve knew he was right.

 

“That means he hasn’t left for hours, man,” Sam muttered, giving Steve a look that he ignored.

 

“So, what’s stopping him from leaving?”

 

“Nothing good, Steve,” Natasha told him, and the Captain felt a chill colder then the Ice run its fingers down his spine.

 

Natasha’s ‘feeling’ from earlier may have been more than he hoped.

 

* * *

 

 

The Asset woke up slowly, painfully. The ache in his head like being trampled by an ox or beaten by his handlers after a failure. The Asset’s muscles felt stretched like that candy that he had seen a child eat while he targeted her father before he shot the man through the head when she had left in the school bus. His eye sockets hurt and pulsed with a pounding beat that danced to the tune of its own making.

 

The Asset observed that he had been in the Chair.

 

Only even while the Chair caused him pain, this agony seemed worse than his usual maintenance, and he wondered what he had done to have deserved this session.

 

A sudden spark and a jolt of left-over electricity shot from the head restraints and made him jerk, his vision and mind banking, and then it stopped.

 

The head restraints lowered, and the Asset sat up slowly and waited for a handler to give him orders.

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They followed the trail of bodies, each of them trying not to look too much at the brutal carnage surrounding them, leading them towards their goal.

 

One would think by their expressions that the Avengers felt bad for the people that once inhabited the corpses that lay discarded like broken toys.

 

Nothing could be further from the truth.

 

The Avengers felt no sympathy for any person who sympathized with HYDRA, not after what they had done. They wouldn’t bat an eye if there were just a bullet hole or two in the bodies, but this was a far more brutal, bloody, and messy death than any of them were used to or fully comfortable with looking at.

 

So, they followed the breadcrumbs that would lead them to the grizzly bear, avoiding the sight.

 

The farther they walked into the base, the bloodier it got, until every footstep they mad had a sickening splat and squish sound that made them all wince.

 

“I’m burning this suit when we get back, Tony,” Barton whined, his face scrunched up. “I don’t care if it cost you a million bucks, I have HYDRA goon guts on my pants, man.”

 

“I think we’re all going to be burning our shit, Barton,” Tony grumbled, “Including my multi million-dollar suit,” shooting a half-hearted glare at Steve, Tony whined, “Why couldn’t Bucklaclava Bear just snap their necks, instead of making a tossed HYDRA salad for us to wade through?”

 

Sam screwed his face up and shot Tony a disgusted look.

 

“Thanks, man; now I never wanna have salad again,” Sam shuddered, “Damn metaphors you make…” he muttered, “Turning me off my damn salad…”

 

“Enough,” Steve snapped, voice strained, “cut it out, complaining won’t change the situation,” He pointed out. “If you want to leave turn on your commlink and you know the way back, otherwise, please stop- I’m trying to hold my own stomach, and you’re not helping, okay?”

 

Natasha just shot them all a deadly look, and whether it was because of that, or Steve’s words, they did, in fact, shut up, much to Steve’s relief. He was having a hard enough time not emptying his stomach right then and there without the commentary from the others men.

 

Despite it being clearly a rage-filled killing (though a small part of his brain traitorously whispered _what if it wasn’t? what if he did it for **fun**? Because he **could**? _And he ruthlessly shoved that voice and locked it back in its box), Steve still had a part of him that was shocked that his oldest friend was capable of such brutal and ruthless killing. Steve knew that Bucky had always been a calm, collected man, cheerful and charming in equal measure, dropping panties left and right back in the forties.

 

Bucky had charmed his way through life with his smile and his easygoing nature. Everyone in the neighborhood loved Bucky, loved the smooth-talking and gentlemanly young man that would go out of his way to help anyone who needed it- even if he turned around and flirted with any dames he helped after.

 

Buck was a laid-back and easy-going fella with a charming smile and a kind heart; he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

 

Not until the war.

 

And even then, Steve had noticed after Azzano that even after the torture he was put through, Bucky took no pleasure out of killing the enemy.

 

_“A lot of them are just kids, Stevie; They didn’t know what they were sighnin’ up for, and I don’t like killin’ people, no matter who they are- they’re still human, and they still have a family.”_

 

Steve remembered those words years later, and seeing the carnage around him, had Steve wondering _just how_ _angry_ Bucky had to have been to have ripped these people to shreds like paper dolls.

 

They had finally reached the end of the trail, and Steve held out his arm, telling them to stop, and stay behind him.

 

They hadn’t encountered anything living.

 

Yet.

 

Putting his fingers to his lips, he silently told the Team to not make a sound and pointed to himself then the slightly open door.

 

Natasha, upon realizing that Steve meant to go in on his own, shot him a nasty glare and went to protest, but he shot her a look so strong even she hesitated. Heating up his eyes, Steve made sure she knew this was non-negotiable, and it took a few moments before she pursed her lips, nodding tightly. She looked into his eyes and conveyed the words she didn’t say out loud;

 

_If you die, I will bring you back and make you wish you were dead again._

Steve nodded; _understood_.

 

Angling his body into a defensive position, Steve carefully opened the heavy door, wincing when it let out a loud creak.

 

Taking a breath through a throat thick with nerves, Steve didn’t bother with any more stealth- the door would have alerted anyone alive that somebody was coming in anyway.

 

Rushing in with his shield raised, the first sight he saw was a dead Brock Rumlow with a missing arm and covered in blood, with his remaining arm gripping some sort of short metal pole.

 

Steve felt grim satisfaction at the sight of one of Bucky’s known torturers and captor’s dead. Rumlow had worked with him, and Steve had trusted him- and all that time he had known full well that he had been torturing his best friend, enjoying it, even.

 

Steve was snapped out of his thought by a small shuffling sound, so faint he wouldn’t have heard the sound if it wasn’t for his enhanced hearing and the silence around him.

 

Steve felt a chill run down his spine, and the hairs raised on his neck, and klaxon bells started ringing in his head as the feeling of _wrongwrongwrongwrong_ pierced his brain and made his whole-body tense like one of Clint’s bow-strings.

 

Turning swiftly, Steve stumbled back and almost lost his grip on his shield at the sight that met his eyes.

 

“…Bucky?” he whispered, and frighteningly blank, empty blue eyes looked up at him.

 

“…Ready to comply.”

 

Steve felt his stomach drop to the floor.

 

* * *

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

* * *

 

 

_“…Ready to comply.”_

_Steve felt his stomach drop to the floor._

* * *

 

 

Steve’s heart dropped to the floor at the sight of Bucky’s blank face. When Steve had last seen him on the Helicarrier, Bucky had some emotion, even if it was just anger and confusion at Steve trying to force some of the brunette’s memories to the surface. Steve had though back then that the Winter Soldier had been emotionless, but that was nothing compared to the absolute blank slate that was Bucky’s current non-expression.

Steve found himself frozen, his eyes looking into the empty eyes of his best friend- or what was left of him. Steve couldn’t see any trace of Bucky in the icy blue depths, just- emptiness. There was no soul to be seen in hose eyes and Steve found himself shuddering in the face of it.

“What is my mission?” Bucky asked robotically.

“Follow us Soldier, that is your mission.”

Steve startled at Natasha’s voice, almost losing his grip on his shield. The Redhead didn’t acknowledge him, though. She just looked with blank eyes as Bucky.

“I will comply.” the Soldier replied flatly.

 

Steve wanted to protest ordering Bucky around, but he knew logically that in the state he was in now, the brunette wouldn’t respond otherwise.  
  
The Soldier stood up, and Steve hated that his muscles tense and his hands tightened on his shield defensively. He found himself observing the fluid yet mechanical movement of the Soldier and comparing it to the way Bucky used to move with grace and flair, every part of his body displaying his emotions in the way he moved.

The Soldier moved in a robotic, measured way, each movement of muscle carefully calculated for maximum effectiveness. Every movement of the Soldiers body was empty of emotion, empty of life, of soul. The Soldier moved like a puppet on strings, and whomever cruel enough to hold the strings was the puppeteer that controlled him.

Steve watched with wary eyes and a clenched jaw as the Soldier strode towards Natasha, then suddenly stopped and turned to look at him.

The Soldier seemed to analyze Steve, then come to a decision.

“You are my new handler.”

Steve found himself shocked at the flat words the Soldier declared.

_The sky was blue, the earth was round, Steve was the Soldiers Handler._

The Soldier stated it as a fact, and Steve found himself wondering about how he was going to deal with this.

Steve wanted nothing more then to dispute the Soldiers claim, but he stopped himself before he did, reminding himself of the possibility of the Soldier thinking he was an enemy and eliminating Steve and his team. Not to mention, Steve still wasn’t sure if HYDRA had equipped Bucky with a false molar containing loosen, to be used upon capture by the enemy.

Instead, Steve grasped what he remembered his USO and short film trainers taught him in acting (“-Punk couldn’t lie to save his life, I swear to god, Dum Dum, I have no clue how Steve didn’t drive the poor directors to drink-”) And nodded stiffly.

“We are no longer called Handlers, Soldier,” Steve told him, and the Soldier tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly; probably at the change in protocol.

“You will call me Steve. I am you’re… Caretaker,”

Steve applauded himself internally for the title. While it inferred authority, it wasn’t as controlling or as harsh as 'handler' or 'Controller' or 'master', or any other title that HYDRA had used.

The Soldier seemed to roll that through his head, and Steve hoped to whoever was looking over them that Bucky wouldn’t figure out his lie. The last thing they needed was the Soldier getting loose, though Steve had a suspicion that if they had not arrived, Bucky would still be sitting in that Chair, waiting for orders that would never come.

The thought made Steve’s heart clench, and he struggled to not show his feeling on his face lest the Soldier see it.

“Your currant orders are to follow myself and Agent Romanov to our transportation. When we get there, you will be sedated, and restrained.” Steve noticed the Soldier become tense at his words, but didn’t protest. The look in those icy eyes, though… the pure resignation that filled those eyes caused at sharp pain to shoot through Steve’s chest again, stronger this time.

“I will comply.” The soldier said tonelessly. If Steve hadn’t seen the look in Bucky’s eyes, he might have thought that the Soldier hadn’t understood what Steve had been saying, only complying with his words.

Steve nodded, and tapped three times on his comm link, getting three beeps back a second later. Good, the Team was waiting on the quinjet, just like he hoped they would after listening to his words. They must have found a faster way out of the base, since he hadn’t been in the room long enough for them to go back the way they came in, following the trail of bodies.

“Follow us, Soldier,” Steve told the brunette man.

“My Team will be waiting in the quinjet when we arrive,” Steve told him as they began to walk out of the room, Bucky following along.

“You will not attack them, understood?”

“I will comply.” was the flat reply, and Steve resisted the urge to scream at the Soldier; to demand him to put some kind of emotion, of inflection in his voice, his words. Steve would even accept anger, even loathing. Anthing was better than the blank tone empty of free thought or emotion, empty of life- of soul.

Steve resisted, but barely. Instead, he focused on following Natasha, who was leading them in a different way then they came. The walk was scarce of bodies and blood, much to Steve’s relief- he didn’t exactly want to go through the bloodbath that he did when they came in.  
  
Natasha stopping at a doorwat that led to a set of stairs, the metal door seemingly blasted off its hinges.

That would be Tony’s work, Steve thought with amusement. The telltale scorch marks from Tony’s repulsers covered the door and the surrounding wall, blackening the area and leaving a smell reminiscent of coconuts and fire.

Natasha didn’t pause at the door, just continued up the steps expecting them to follow, which they did. The stairs were steep, and Steve had to adjust the way he walked to compensate for the weight of his shield and uniform, his own body still tense from his interaction with the Soldier. He had to be careful not to let the weight of the shield on his back tip him backwards, and he suspected that HYDRA had designed the staircase this way to discourage any swift escape attempts by the Soldier, since his metal arm seemed to be have an even greater problem then his shield, from what Steve could see beside him.

The Soldier moved stiffly, his metal arm held at just the right angle to counterbalance his weight with the angle of the stairs, and his flesh arm slightly held out for balance.  
  
The stairs seemed to level out as they got closer to the stop, until the were suddenly almost blinded as they his the top and exited what looked like what was once a secret entrance in the ground. A look behind him and back down the stairs proved his suspicion’s about the angling of the stairs correct;

Looking down the stairs, it was at such and angle that Steve almost had to look straight down and he could tell that it was only due to their training that they were able to walk up those stairs and not fall straight back down a few steps up.

Steve wondered how Tony had gotten up the steps. Maybe he flew? He would have to ask him later; he wanted to see if that was an issue they should address for later missions, since flying in tight spaced might be needed eventually.

Turning back to the Soldier, Steve motioned for them to continue, and they started up again, walking towards the quinjet in the distance.

It hadn’t escaped Steve’s notice that Natasha had not said a word since the Soldier had acknowledged Steve as his handler. The blond added it to the list of things he would be asking his Teammates later.

The hatch was left open when they got to the quinjet, and Natasha walked right up, Steve and the Soldier following behind silently.

Entering the quinjet, Steve noticed all the Avengers were sitting silently, but tensely on the benches, ready to move in case something went wrong. Tony was fidgeting, and looked to be holding his mouth shut through sheer force of will. Bruce held a needle at the ready, and the blond Captain was grateful that the doctor had it at the ready.

Steve turned to the Soldier and motioned to the reinforced gurny.

“Lay down, Soldier, and stay still.”

The Soldier nodded silently, and walked up to the gurney, laying himself down. If he was unnerved by the reinforced straps hanging from the thing, he didn’t show it.

Cautiously stepping up to the Soldier, Steve pointed to the straps.

“I’m going to strap you in. do not attack me, or any of my team, ok?”

“I will comply.”

Steve ignored the continued pang in his heart and focused on strapping the Soldier in. once he was done, he motioned to Bruce to hand him the needle, and Bruce warily crossed the floor and brought it to him, shooting him a small, sad smile over the rims of his glasses.

Nodding thankfully to the man, he turned back to the Soldier, needle in his hand.

“I am going to inject you and you will fall asleep. When you wake up, you will be in a reinforced room, and you will not be harmed. Do not panic.”

“I..will comply..” The Soldier looked slightly confused at the thought of not being harmed, and though the reason broke Steve’s heart, he felt a burst of relief so strong it almost brought him to his knees; the Soldier had shown emotion- a tiny bit, but still, any emotion was amazing at this point.

Uncapping the needle, flicking it to get rid of any air bubbled, then squirting a tiny bit out, Steve injected the Soldier in the neck.

It didn’t take long for the Super soldier sized dose to kick in, and for the Soldier to close his eyes, out cold.

Internally wincing at the unintentional pun, Steve didn’t take his eyes away from the shell that was his former best friend and brother and spoke to Tony.

“Get us back to the Tower, Tony. We have work to do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

* * *

 

 

The Asset woke up slowly, the drug that had been administered by his new Han-Caretaker, having a stronger effect then any drug his old Handlers and Techs had ever given him. He was not sure how he remembered that.

The Asset found it strange that he felt a lack of pain as his surroundings began to change from blurry to solid and found it even stranger that he felt a lack of restraints to any of his limbs, or his chest, neck or head. The Asset had never woken up without some type of restraint attached to him. His Handlers were much to wary of his strength and skills to not have him restrained outside of missions.

The feeling of waking up unrestrained was foreign, but somewhere in the Assets body, he felt a release of tension that he was unaware existed.

As his surroundings came into view more clearly, the Asset felt a jolt of- something- when he finally registered the feeling of a soft mattress underneath him, and a soft, but still supportive pillow beneath his head. The Asset couldn’t remember being in a bed before, and something told him he was used to sleeping in empty cells and concrete floors, and the ground on long missions.

The Asset was not a person. 

Was not a human.

He did not deserve the luxury of a bed, a pillow, or blankets. 

The Asset certainly didn’t deserve the soft clothes he could feel against his skin, or the redundant bandages he could feel against his minor and irrelevant damages.

Sitting up warily, the Asset scanned the room he was in with a calculating eye.

The room-at first glance- looked like a normal, if sparse, bedroom. The bed he was lying in was a generous size and could probably fit three of him onto the cloud of softness. 

The furniture consisted of the bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a leather armchair and loveseat. The colors were basic, and bland, but then the Asset was not used to color, other then the color of his missions red blood as it left their limp bodies.

A second glance at the room showed no windows, and all the furniture was reinforced and bolted to the floor, and after the Asset swung his legs off the bed and tapped a socked foot on the floor, and the dull sound and solid surface underneath the plush carpet told him that the floor was made of thick concrete-possibly mixed with iron.

There was no door, but the wall that a door would be expected was made of a glassy, currently opaque material.

The Asset was certain that the deceptively fragile surface would withstand his metal fist.

…S**** B****~ You will be the new Fist of HYDRA…

Shaking his head at the small malfunction, the Asset went back to observing the ‘wall’.

He was sure that the opaque surface was either a one way mirror or could be turned transparent through outside control. The thought was an unnerving one, because either way, he could be observed without knowing- something that made the Asset’s spine crawl at the phantom feeling of many eyes looking at him from beyond his small cell.

And that’s what this was; a cell.

Bafflingly comfortable though it may be, the Asset was locked in here, with no way out unless he was released, and no weapons he could defend himself with or anything he could turn into a weapon.

The Asset laid back, deciding to wait for his…Caretaker to come and give him his next mission.

His Caretaker was strange, with his gentle orders and way of handling the Asset so far.

The Caretaker had told him before he did anything, had warned him of what was to come.

His Handlers would have just done it, without any warning or input from the Asset. They would have done it roughly and without care, with smirks and sneers.

His Caretaker gave him a comfortable cell with soft things and heat. 

The Asset, when not in cryo, was put in a cold, cement cell with a bucket and a small bottle of water meant to last him days, maybe even a week.

His Caretaker had handled him gently and had not touched him other than to administer the drug and to strap him in.

His handlers would strike him to get him to move, would roughly shove him when they needed him to sit or lay down. They would hold him down needlessly when they strapped him down, even though he never struggled.

The Asset was not used to this luxury, this…softness. He wasn’t…deserving of this…care.

The thought suddenly accured to the Asset that this was a test; that he was being tested by his new…Caretaker, and that he would be punished for his continued use of the soft bed and comfortable objects. Taking a barely perceptable breath through his teeth, the Asset got of the bed, and walked to the middle of the cell, then went down to his knees, crossing his arms behind his back and tilting his head toward the floor, looking down submissively.

“Ready to comply,” then he waited, hoping his new Caretaker would be merciful in his punishment.

 

* * *

  
“Tasty-red-freeze needs a dictionary,” 

Steve stiffened and shot Tony a sharp look, but the genius ignored it, seemingly more manic then usual.

“What? Just saying he’s been saying the same thing since we took him in-”

“Stark,” Natasha jabbed him with her elbow, shooting him a deadly glare, that softened when she too, noticed the hidden emotions in Tony’s eyes. “Tony, stop.”

Clenching his jaw, the billionare nodded, rocking on his heels, his whole body radiating how uncomfortable he was.

Bruce was frowning down at the screen of the tablet in his hands that was giving him information that Steve couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Steve wished desperately that he could understand the lines, numbers and graphs that were displayed on the tablet.

He wished he could understand it so he knew how he could help Bucky better, because right now he was grasping at straws thinking of just how he was supposed to begin to help the damaged shell of a man. 

The person that was currently kneeling in a submissive, contrite pose in the middle of the room they had put him in was so far removed from the James Buchanan Barnes of 1939; the Bucky that had taken him to cony island and had gotten him to ride the cyclone and laughed good-naturedly as he emptied his stomach after. The Bucky who bought him a smoothie after in apology with the little amount of spare change they had left, despite his plans to go dancing the next night.

Natasha was looking at Bucky with a gleam in her eye, and it reminded Steve that she had been trained by The Winter Soldier, had learned almost all she knew under the man in the mockery of a room he was currently contained in.

Steve wondered what she was thinking- what she thought of when she discovered how exactly her old mentor had been treated, yet still trained her while showing her kindness along the way, helping her escape from the Red Room when she was old enough, skilled enough.

Sam was observing the Soldier with a look on his face that Steve remembered seeing on his theripst plenty of times, and the blond knew that Sam would play a huge part in Bucky’s recovery.

He couldn’t help but feel grateful to Sam- the man was a gift, in Steve’s honest opinion. Sam Wilson had stayed with Steve through things that would have sent most people running the other way screaming, and had done it with a smile and a kind eye, always ready to say a helping word or give advice that would help them all get through the tougher times.

Steve wondered, looking at the kneeling Soldier, if this group of misfit and mashed together personalities could save and repair this shattered and broken man.  
Steve hoped it would be enough.

He didn’t know what he would do if it wasn’t.

 

 

* * *

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So, are we just gonna leave the guy kneeling there?”

 

Steve flinched at the sudden voice that cut through the silence and looked over to see Clint leaning in the doorway of the observation room.

 

The archer had a serious look on his face as he looked past them to look at Bucky, who was still kneeling in the middle of the room past the glass, still and silent as he had been for hours now.

 

“We still haven’t figured out where to start,” Bruce grimaced. “These brain patterns are…worrying, to be frank,”

 

That didn’t sound good, Steve thought and said as much, and Bruce grimly smiled and shook his head.

 

“Normally, if I saw somebody with this kind of brain activity, I would expect to see them in the middle of a grand-mal seizure, and… this is his steady level of activity,”

Steve felt himself pale at the news, and Bruce continued. “Any normal person would be constantly seizing- actually, they would be dead at this point. The human brain, not to mention the human body for that matter, isn’t meant to handle seizures for this long.”

 

“So, what exactly does that all mean?”

 

Bruce shuffled uncomfortably on his feet and bit his lip.

 

“I’m not a doctor-”

 

“Bruce, please,” Steve gave the older man a pleading look.

 

Sighing, Bruce motioned to the tablet in his hands.

 

“If I had to take a guess, I would say that the Soldiers brain is giving him back-to-back seizures, doing the job of that…Chair that HYDRA had, constantly wiping him while his brain tries to heal itself.”

 

“That…doesn’t sound good,” Tony said weakly when the rest of them tried to swallow the news that even when he was free from HYDRA, Bucky was still being tortured by them.

 

Clint took a breath, then released it, and Steve watched with numb shock as the man strode forward and tapped on the keypad to the hidden door.

 

It only took a few seconds to snap out of it, but that was all it took for Clint to open the door and it to close behind him before anyone could stop him. Tony went to rush to open the door again and get the man out, but Natasha threw an arm out to stop him.

 

“What the hell Natasha-”

 

“Wait,” Natasha snapped back at the genius, who just stared at her incredulously.

 

“He’s gonna get himself-” Tony spluttered, but Natasha shook her head.

 

“Trust me,” she nodded to Clint, “He has experience in dealing with brainwashed Assassins.”

 

Tony worked his jaw a bit, clearly wanting to object, but backed down after a few tense moments.

 

“If he gets killed-” Sam spoke up, his voice strained.

 

“Then that’s on me,” Natasha snapped at Sam, who just looked at her calmly. “But he won’t, I trust him.”

 

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” Steve pointed out, and Nat looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite put a name to.

 

“It has _everything_ to do with it.”  

 

 

* * *

 

The Asset wasn’t sure how long it had been, kneeling on the floor and waiting for his new Hand- Caretaker to come and give him punishment, or a new mission. He couldn’t tell, due to the lack of windows and clocks in his new cell. It caused a frisson of unease to run down his spine; how long had it been? How many minutes? Hours? Days?

 

…. Years?

 

How long has he been kneeling, waiting for his punishment? Time was something the Asset drifted through, was frozen through. Time held no meaning when it was something that didn’t touch his face, his skin, didn’t touch his life like it did a human. While handlers and techs aged and new ones replaced the old, the Asset stayed the same; cold, unmoving, ageless, timeless. Forever the Asset, forever the weapon.

 

So, the Asset waited. He kneeled, and he didn’t twitch a muscle.

He ignored the pain in his kneecaps, the strain in his calves and thighs, and the sharp pain in his neck muscles. Order comes through pain, and order was what the Asset was created for and used to enforce.

 

The Asset slowly became aware of a buzzing sound, just on the peripheral of his awareness. The buzzing was of no importance, to waiting for his punishment, so he ignored it.

 

The longer the Asset knelt there, the more the buzzing became less buzzing, more words, and the Asset suddenly snapped to attention, knowing that ignoring a Handler had always brought him even more pain.

 

“…-covery, and those stupid idiots that had you certainly messed you up,” the voice was saying, and the Asset paid more attention. “I mean you were ours before you were theirs, in a way, and they stole you from this country, which, no fair-”

 

“You are a very strange Handler,” the Asset blurted, and then snapped his mouth shut and cringed, waiting for a blow that never came.

 

The voice only let out a sharp bark of a laugh, trailing off into chuckles.

 

“Caretaker, remember?” the voice reminded the Asset, “and to be fair, I’ve been hit in the head a few times, so strangeness is a given.”

 

That perked the Assets interest; the Caretaker was malfunctioning? And yet had not been decommissioned?

 

“You are… damaged?” the Asset did not know why he was questioning his Caretaker, even when every instinct in him told him to _Shutupyouwilllbepunishedwhatthe **fuck** areyoudoingshutupshutupshutup_-

 

Looking up hesitantly, the Asset studied the Caretaker. The man had blond hair, blue eyes-

_“takin’ all the stupid with you-”_

-and a taped nose and various cuts on his face that looked in the stages of late healing. The scent of gun oil and coffee hung around the Caretaker, and the calm demeanour was at odds with what the Asset was used to seeing on his Handlers.

 

The man tapped a bandaged finger to his temple and grinned.

 

“Yup, few screws loose, but I can still shoot like a pro,”

 

The Asset… was confused.

 

“You…have not been decommissioned? You are still an asset?”

 

The man didn’t seem bothered by the Assets continued questioning, even though the Asset would have been whipped bloody by now by his Handlers.

 

“Nah, decommissioning’s not really their style,” the man shrugged, “and we prefer the word Agent- Asset is so last year, makes us seem like slave-drivers,” the man chuckled like he had told a particularly good joke.

 

“Then what am I?” the Asset wondered aloud, and the man smiled- _smiled_ at the Asset.

 

“You? you’re our friend, patient, charge, new family member, future teammate, all of the above,” the man shrugged and the Asset-

 

Glitched.

 

* * *

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clint waited for the man to respond, but it was like Barnes had suddenly blanked, like he wasn’t there anymore. Considering that the man was pretty much empty of emotion before, seeing it even worse was more then a little worrying.

 

“Shit,” Clint hissed as the Soldier suddenly went pale as snow and tensed up like a wooden board. The Soldier collapsed, limbs jerking and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

 

Rushing over to the Soldier, Clint quickly turned the seizing man onto his side, so he didn’t choke on his own vomit if the assassins stomach decided to kick the man in the ass as well.

 

Looking at his watch, Clint began to time the length of the attack, knowing that JARVIS and anyone on the other side of the wall would be doing the same thing.   
_Well JARVIS for sure_ , Clint thought wryly; _The rest of them were probably busy holding Steve back from barging in the room like a bull._

 

_“Agent Barton, Sir would like to know if it is safe to send in Dr. Banner,”_ JARVIS spoke.

 

Clint gave it a moments thought, then shook his head.

 

“Not until he’s more aware, if he wakes up with a new person after an attack, he could get scared and become violent.”

 

There was a few moment silence before-

 

“ _Dr. Banner agrees. I will continue to monitor the Soldiers vitals.”_

 

With a sigh of relief, Clint continued to wait for the Soldiers seizure to stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
Steve struggled weakly against the mag-cuffs that Tony had put on him when he almost broke out of Natasha and the engineers restraining hold.

 

Steve had started to frantically type in th code for the hidden door to Bucky’s cell when the Soldier had collapsed and started convulsing.

 

Natasha and Tony had grabbed at him and held him back, and when he almost broke Natasha’s wrist trying to escape their hold, Tony had somehow obtained a pair of modified mag-cuffs and had slapped them on the struggling Super Soldier.

 

  
Steve had at first been pissed off, but then the weight and feel of the magnetic cuffs fully registered, and sweat started to bead on his brow. The constraining feel of the reinforced metal caused the blonds pulse to start to race, his muscles tremble, and his ears to roar.

 

Flashbacks of the elevator fight between him and ten other HYDRA agents played in his head, overlapping the Avengers like they were completely different people.

 

Steve couldn't help but let out a terrified whine as Rumlow stepped closer, almost inches from his face, and swore.

 

The next thing he knew, he was released from the cuffs, and he scrambled back, away from Rumlow and the hands that would hurt.

 

Curling into a ball, Steve waited for the kicking and jeering to start, the humiliating comments-

 

Instead he felt a slim hand start running fingers through his hair, and a voice humming a vaguely familiar lullaby.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha inwardly cursed herself as she gently threaded her hands through Steve's hair, humming an old Russian lullaby she didn't remember learning.

 

She should have known that putting Steve in mag-cuffs would be a horrible decision, but she had been so unnerved by the sight of her old mentor, her old father-figures convulsing body she hadn't given a thought to the memory of Steve telling her about the fight in the elevator with Rumlow, Rollins, and eight other HYDRA agents. That the fight had given him nightmares about what could have happened if he hadn't been able to escape the cuffs.

 

She should have known, but she only realized the error when Steve began to gasp in air, pulling weakly at the cuffs, his eyes wild and glazed. Sam had stepped forward to ask Steve if he was alright, and had cursed, telling them to realease Steve before the man had a heart attack from hi pulse racketing up from the intense PTSD flashback.

 

Natasha had released the cuffs and had watched in guilt as the blond scrambled away and curled into a whimpering, shivering ball.

 

The sight was so much unlike their usually calm and collected Captain that is shook all of them down to their bones.

 

Steve was the strong one, the one that held them up when they had flashbacks or nightmares or bad days. He would listen to them talk when they were willing to speak, and would feed them and make sure they took care of themselves.

 

To see Steve like this, broken, shivering, terrified- was a wake up call. they haven't been paying enough attention to the man that helped hold them all up, and failed to realize there was no one holding up Steve.

 

So she now sat, trying to bring Steve back to himself, promising herself and Steve that she would pay more attention from now on, that she would hold up the man that had become the Teams heart and it's rock.

 

She would not fail in this mission.

 

Natasha knew that the rest of the team were holding themselves back from making any sudden movements toward them or talking loudly. She appreciated it, and knew that if Steve was in his right mind, he would as well.

 

Though if he was in his right mind, they wouldn't need to in the first place.

 

Natasha deeply regretted letting her past distract her, and letting Stark put those cuffs on Steve. She should have just done- something, anything, other then letting those cuffs close around her leaders wrists and attach to the wall.

 

Steve, Natasha knew, would never blame her for this, would never blame Tony. He won't even get angry at them because that's just who he was- who he had always been; A good man, not a good soldier. A good leader that cared for them and for the world, but put very little thought to himself and the care he needed.

 

Steve may not blame Natasha, but she would always blame herself for this oversight.

 

For the first time in a long time, Natasha found herself holding back tears as she sang to the shivering ball in her lap.

 

* * *

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"So, we currently have both of the worlds _only_ super soldiers's out of commision, one of them being a super _assassin_ that tried to kill the other super soldier, and the other being the only one that- much as I hate to say it- can beat Robo Red October in a fight," Tony took a breath, "Am I missing anything? I never do, but it's been a really stressful day."

 

Natasha shook her head in the negative, looking in the bed (that Bruce had brought over from the med wing, and put in the observation room) where Steve lay, out cold after his panic attack that _they caused_.

 

 

"You forgot that Barton is still in with Barnes," Sam pointed out, making Natasha wince.

 

The red-haired assassin had been so caught up in thoughts of Steve that she had forgotten the fact that her partner had been dealing with the deadlier, more unstable portion of the super soldier duo. It was completely unlike her to forget Clint, and Natasha felt a pang of guilt hit her at the reminder that clearly, she was terrible at this. This, meaning caring for more than one person at a time, acknowledging them as more than just pawns to help her survive till the end of the next mission, the next day, the next hour.

 

It was another sign that she needed to do better, _be_ better- or she was going to slip and lose what she had gained with this team, this _family_.

 

"We need to figure out what happened to Barnes-"

 

"Um..."

 

Natasha whipped her head around to stare at Bruce, who was biting his lip and looking at his tablet.

 

"What is it?"

 

Bruce hesitated at Natasha's urgent inquiry, clearly reluctant to say anything, but knowing he didn't really have a choice now that he had made a noise an informed them he knew something.

 

"Bruce, you can't just keep something from us right now, we need every scrap of data to figure out how to fix Barnes, and with Steve down..."

 

Natasha let the sentence trail off, knowing that Bruce would give in with their leader and friend's health on the line.

 

"When Clint started talking, initially these parts of Barnes' brain were pretty inactive," Bruce pointed to a place of the brain scan on the tablet, "as Clint kept talking, activity in them began to pick up, and then spiked, and then he spoke up. As he continued to speak, all of them began to pick up a level of activity that is really quite incredible, considering his situation..." Bruce cleared his throat, "But when Clint talked about Barnes' becoming an important part of the team... I'd almost call it a glitch, to be completely honest," Bruce looked baffled, showing the recording of the Soldier's brain activity at the moment he was talking about.

 

Tony raised his eyebrows at the sight.

 

"It's like looking at fireworks on Cap's birthday," Tony muttered.

 

 

Bruce nodded. "Basically, yeah, I've never seen anything like it. It's almost like the parts of his brain were blinking on and off, started and restarting, like a-"

 

"Like a machine," Natasha observed, voice flat.

 

They all winced at the apt description.

 

"You sure it's not some sort of glitch in your tech?" Sam asked, then raised his hands when Tony looked at him indignantly.

 

"Look, man, I'm trying to figure this out, just like the rest of you, and part of that is making sure we are doing this right, because this is a man's _brain_ we are messing with, and that's some serious shit," Sam pointed the one-way glass.

 

"That man in there has had his brain messed with enough for seventy years. Messing up isn't an option, I'm not gonna be responsible for making the worlds longest surviving POW into a braindead vegetable because we didn't bother to check if our tech was working right, you get me?"

 

Tony shoulder dropped, looking contrite.

 

"Yeah, that makes sense, Wing-Boy," Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking much older. "Now that you point it out, I'm really hoping it _is_ a problem with my tech, because if it's not..."

 

"Then Barnes is gonna need help that even we can't deal with alone."

 

Tony looked like he had sucked on a lemon, and even Natasha had a small grimace tugging her lips down. Bruce's words were true, but they didn't like them.

 

She knew that the more people they brought into this, the more they risked people getting hurt.

 

"Look," Bruce stabbed a finger at the screen, "If these results are not a glitch, and are, in fact, what Barnes' brain is currently doing, then I can't, in good moral and ethical conscience, treat him or give him any type of brain-altering treatments and medications without the say-so and consult of a trained professional or expert in the human brain, preferably a doctor, and preferably one that hasn't only worked in third world countries patching up simple bone breaks and helping woman give birth. this is bigger than me, then _us,_ am I clear?"

 

 

Bruce never raised his voice, and no green tainted his skin or eyes during his speech. despite that, Bruce had never sounded so stern and strict before, a hint of something that could _become_ anger if they chose to ignore his words.

 

They all agreed with the scientist.

 

"Hey man, I completely agree, have we got any ideas on who to call?" Sam asked, "Because I hate to be the one to point out what clearly Y'all are avoiding thinking about, but even if it's not a glitch, Barnes has had electricity pumped into his brain and been put in a damn freezer over and over again for over seventy years, and that alone requires a professional to check out, Sorry man, but..." Sam threw an apologetic look at Bruce, who shrugged it off, looking sheepish.

 

"No, you're right, we _all_ have been avoiding that reality," Bruce let out a frustrated breath and shot a look at the cell wall. "Which isn't fair to Barnes. I think the man deserves some fairness in his life from now on."

 

Natasha turned her attention to the cell.

 

"Yasha is waking up," Natasha told the team, at the same time as a groan from Steve was heard.

 

It was fitting, Natasha observed to herself, that the two soldiers would wake up at the same time. back in sync, after so many years apart.

 

* * *

 

His limbs and muscles ached like he had taken a particularly harsh punishment from his handlers, involving shock sticks and boots to the head.

 

The Soldiers head felt like it was clamped in a vice- _the handlers laughed as the Asset whimpered, each time the handle was twisted the pressure in his skull threatened to crack his bones and yet he didn't struggle to escape from his restraints because the punishment could be so much worse_ -and he winced as his brain throbbed within its confines.

 

His limbs ached like they had been stretched to capacity then forced back into shape, and the Soldier groaned as the pain shot through him when he shifted on the hard floor.

 

"You alright man?"

 

The Soldier flinched and scrambled across the floor to get away from the sudden voice, eyes wide and chest heaving.

 

The blond haired man with blue eyes- _a shock of blond hair and blue, blue eyes_ -raised his hands and leaned back, still kneeling on the floor where the Asset had lain not moments before.

 

"Hey man, It's all right, remember me? We were talking before you seized, do you remember that?"

 

The Asset furrowed his brow, memories of the conversation he did indeed have with the man coming back to him.

 

"I...Malfunctioned," the Asset forced out, watching the man warily.

 

"Well, ya, I guess you could say that," for some reason, the man did not seem to like the Assets words, frowning slightly as he watched the Asset just as carefully as the Asset watched him.

 

"I Malfunctioned, but I will not be decommissioned?"

 

The blond haired man smiled, frown disappearing, and nodded at him. "That's right, bud, no decommissioning for you, just R&R and lots of chocolate."

 

The Asset wrinkled his nose as the words, utterly confused.

 

"What is that?"

 

"Chocolate, or R&R?"

 

"Both," the Asset replied, and the blond man looked at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

 

"Dude, R&R is rest and relaxation, and ya, not know that, cool, but _chocolate???_ Man, I knew HYDRA were dicks but not knowing the best thing besides coffee?"

 

The blond man looked angry, but for once, he observed that it was not anger directed towards the Asset, but towards his old handlers.

 

The Asset wondered what this 'chocolate' was that was causing the blond so much distress hearing hat the Asset did not know what it was.

 

"Is it a mission?" the Asset asked tentatively and watched with disappointment as the blond man's face fell and looked with sad eyes at him.

 

"Aw, HYDRA, _no_..." The man mumbled, before turning a bright, if fragile grin to him.

 

"I'm gonna get you some chocolate, ok? Promise not to try and escape?"

 

"I will comply," the Asset reflexively said, and the blond flinched, making the Asset frown again.

 

The blond left through a door that seemed to appear seamlessly in the wall.

 

The Asset wondered to himself, as he waited once again for his caretaker to return if Chocolate was a particularly efficient weapon and if it would take him long to learn how to use it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Steve had been awake and observing Bucky and Clint's interaction when Natasha had come up to his shoulder.

 

"I'm sorry for the cuffs, Steve," Steve noticed that She let a lot more emotion then usual appear on her face, and was upset to recognize it as guilt. "I should have known-"

 

"Natasha, don't," the redhead looked up at him in surprise, her mouth open in a little 'o'. "We've had a lot happen in the past few days. My...reaction with the cuff was extream, considering the fight with the STRIKE team was a drop in the bucket of what happened back then," Steve sighed, remembering those few days and the whole shit show they contained.

 

"It wasn't on the list of priorities today, and that's fine, I'm not important right now, Bucky is, so let's focus on him, all right?"

 

 

Steve had hoped the subject would be dropped, but a scoff behind him made him turn around with a furrowed brow.

 

"Wow, that's some bullshit right there," Sam snorted, making Steve raise an eyebrow.

 

"What-"

 

"Man, you can't possibly think that Barnes' health is way more important than your own, because that's what my mama would call a steamin' pile a' horseshit."

 

Steve scowled at Sam's words, and went to open his mouth to reply, but was interrupted when Clint came out of the cell with a smile that he quickly dropped when the door had closed.

 

"Aw, man, this is so fucked up..." Clint muttered as he leaned against the wall and put his face in his hands.

 

"What did he say?"

 

Clint tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling, not reacting to Steve's question for a few moments.

 

"You remember when we saved those girls from that so-called 'finishing' school, and all they knew was how to be the perfect Stepford wife and keep a home running and literally nothing else?"

 

"...Yeah?"

 

"This is...way worse, and more assassin-themed, maybe slave-themed too I dunno- Just," Clint groaned, rubbing his face, "Fuck HYDRA man, fuck them." 

 

 

 

"Clint, elaborate."

 

"Dude doesn't know anything about anything unless it's to do with a mission or a weapon. Barnes probably thought I was talking about some sorta high tech weapon when I said I'd bring him chocolate."

 

"That's...really messed up," Tony, for once, was completely serious as he frowned at Clint's words. Steve noticed the engineer clenching and unclenching his fist, and wondered if the older man was remembering his time captured by the ten rings, who had been discovered to be a small off-shoot branch of HYDRA.

 

"So what's the first step? I don't even know where we would start," Tony looked tired, purple bags under his eyes, and Steve wondered how long it had been since Tony had even slept, even before the mission.

 

"First," Sam spoke up, looking at them all, "We get the man his goddamn chocolate."

 

"Well, obviously," Natasha looked amused at Tony's indignant reply, "Never promise a man chocolate and then back out, that's just rude, but what do we do after that?"

 

"We Start looking at finding a professional," Sam sighed, "and not just in the brain, because man, we need a damn good therapist to deal with the amount of baggage in this room."

 

"You mean the cell right?" Tony grinned, then lost it when he saw Sam's grim face.

 

"Naw man, we all need some goddamned therapy, preferably by someone who won't run screaming into the hills, or blabbing to the media and SHIELD."

 

"Um, I don't think-" Steve started, but Sam shot him a look, and he shut his jaw.

 

"Man, shut up," Sam snapped, not unkindly, "Ya'll need some heavy-ass therapy, and to be honest, I could use some too."

 

There were a few moments of silence as they digested the truth they all hated to hear. It was a hard truth to swallow, and Steve felt a lump grow in his throat.

 

The fact that he needed therapy wasn't a surprise to him, It, in fact, was something he had known from the minute that someone had mentioned off-handedly that therapy was more than it was back in the '40s, only a week out of the ice and reeling from shock.

 

It was the fact that his _team_ all needed therapy that really hit home. The fact that all his team needed therapy made Steve feel like he had personally failed them in some way, even if he knew it was completely irrational of him.

 

He was supposed to take care of his team, make sure they were mentally and emotionally fit and ready for every mission and every training session.

 

It wasn't that he felt he had neglected to notice that they all had things they were dealing with; parts of their past that affected them and made waves in their lives even now. It was the fact that he couldn't fix it _himself-_ and that, he realized, was one of the many reasons he needed therapy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Asset was waiting, hoping for his Caretaker to come and bring him this 'chocolate', wanting to get his new mission over with, even though he didn't want to have a new mission at all.

 

But the Asset was not meant to _want_ , and he felt a frisson of something that shouldn't be fear (because the Asset was not meant to _feel_ either) and he shoved the thought away, but it wouldn't leave, stubbornly staying in his thoughts the longer he waited for his new weapon to arrive with his Caretaker.

 

The Asset felt the constant ache in his left shoulder give a sudden sharp slash of pain, and he bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a gasp, tasting blood, the iron tang familiar and grounding-

 

_The blood splattered his face as his target fell from his knife, the spray from the cartoroid artery warm on his lips. Tasting iron he left, returning to his handlers to be Wiped-_

 

 

The Asset snapped out of his thought with the sounds of footsteps and he stiffened, looking up.

 

Seeing the Caretaker with - _short blond hair and blue, blue eyes_ \- blond hair and blue eyes, sitting down cross-legged on the ground and holding out-

 

A square of something wrapped?

 

The Asset furrowed his brow, looking at the object, then back up at his Caretaker.

 

"What... is this?"

 

"Chocolate," his Caretaker said simply, and the Asset was more confused than ever.

 

"This...is not an effective weapon, I can not use this on a mission."

 

The blond haired man laughed, but it was tinged with some sadness, which confused the Asset further.

 

"Naw, man, Chocolate is something you eat, its a gift,"

 

The Asset...can not remember ever having a gift or any nutrition that was not fed to him through a tube.

 

The Asset told his Caretaker as much, and the blue eyes darkened, mouth frowning.

 

"I dunno if it's safe for you to eat this then, bud,"

 

And the Assets heart dropped.

 

His gift was being taken away, his _first gift_.

 

The Asset wasn't aware of what expression his face was making, but whatever it was, it caused his Caretaker to let him eat the chocolate.

 

Five minutes later, as the Asset purged the lovely tasting bar from his stomach, he wished he had heeded his caretaker's words.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Are you 18+ and Want to join in a group dedicated to Bucky Appreciation? Join my Server on Discord, here: 
> 
> https://discord.gg/h2zTtzT
> 
> Hope to see you soon!


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